


Succulents

by KaneNogami



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Good sibs trying their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/pseuds/KaneNogami
Summary: Succulents, they're called.So tiny. He looks at the pots who fell on top of another, dirt everywhere inside the crate. A respectable person would walk away, returning home to go to bed before sunrise. That's good Klaus has never claimed to be respectable, as he can fill his pockets with plants, and his arms too. That's going to bring colors inside the living graveyard they're stuck in (minus the ghosts, well outside of his).-In which Klaus puts his siblings and himself back together, with the help of a bunch of succulents





	Succulents

    There is a weight against his bones, something ancient and heavy, dragging him down. That's the wars, the one back home and the other, which feels distant most of the time. Not enough though, not when he cannot rest at night, scars long gone tugging until he has to get up. The past—Five's improvised plan was supposed to offer them a second chance, rather than this weird repetition of their mistakes. Klaus won't even pretend they did anything right.

 

He's a little fed up with pretending they are better this time around. If anything, they drifted farther away from each other, which is hilarious.

To think they watched the world end, swearing to save it, only to fall right back into old habits… That's pathetic; there is nothing funny about what's happening.

 

He supposes they are all to blame as a unit. Ah, for once they are one! Big bunch of failures who cannot even communicate properly. Klaus laughs, because that's his talent. Treating everything as a joke, mocking his peers and feeding on whatever can get him out of here. Except he does not find any amusement in what they are doing. If anything, he is the worst of them all, playing pretend to the point he does not feel real any longer.

 

Drugs are—his body cannot handle them in the same way. It's a slow process to learn everything again. Klaus isn't certain he wants to, so he only keeps the light stuff around. What's easy to get without causing permanent damage to the brain. Can't be worse than Vietnam though. Ah, they got some shit there, weird stuff mixed together so they could go on. A chance his body never gave out in the middle of a fight.

 

Or a shame, he isn't too sure.

 

Soon, they'll be eighteen again, a couple of years gone done the drain without any progress. They isolated themselves from each other, unsure of how to deal with that wicked image of a father looming over them. He doesn't get it. Frankly, that's their worst stunt since that time where they were certain summoning tentacle monsters in a dim-light cave couldn't be such a bad idea.

 

He remembers many things.

Ben begging for the right not to use his powers, Vanya falling down and hitting the ground, Dave—

That's why he does not run away.

 

Not this time.

Not anymore.

 

That's the kind of bullshit you can say easily. It's harder to do a follow-up with your behavior though. Klaus is surrounded by ghosts, some his fault, others here from despair or a burning desire for revenge. He recalls being six, children missing limbs and covered in blood, crying at the end of his bed for hours. Honestly, he should get an award for figuring out how to fall asleep after that. Drugs bad, sure. Drugs keeping him in this in-between between life and death nonetheless. That's where he belongs, he realized it long ago. He could do without all the horror, the constant flashes from one life or another.

 

Greeting soldiers in the morning, only to get weird stares and 'Brad died last week' and yeah he forgot. That's too easy to do so, to get lost between reality and everything people dismiss. That's as real as what they see, except it's his own truth. The kind which is unsettling. People don't want to be told their relatives are following them around, trying to make amends. They are keen on burying and forgetting.

 

How lucky!

 

Klaus has long decided the night belonged to him. The fire escape is a close friend, the reliable kind. He doubts daddy dearest still monitors them. Oh, filming the puberty of seven teenagers is definitely not what he wants. In retrospect, there is stuff Klaus could do without about that, yeah. Like feeling like a lanky noodle because he grew at once, like a weird weed. If he could, he'd love to give a couple of centimeters to Vanya. Or maybe not, she's small and deadly after all, that's her new trademark.

 

He ponders about it, waving at familiar faces on the streets. Klaus enjoys this freedom, sitting with people his father wouldn't even glance at without disgust. He loves sitting on benches, listening to stories or his own, kinda nonsensical. That's life, baby! And this time around, he wants to improve a little. He has always been sharp edges and snark in his voice. That's a good defense mechanism, to point out all what's wrong with them. The most dysfunctional family unit, soon on your screens! There was a reporter who tried to undercover how it was like for them once, and father threw them outside with a lawsuit.

 

In the end, Vanya solved that mystery with her book. The contents were a pain to read. Not exactly wrong anyway, merely said in a way which was bound to anger her siblings. Maybe that was her point, a glimpse of attention.

 

For all he knows, which means not much, she takes her meds only from time to time, hiding shit from everyone. Well, it's not as if they tried to truly communicate with her beyond ' _please don't blow the moon up, unless Luther is on it_ '. Oh, that was definitely his words. A brilliant joke overlooked by the way she just withdrew once more. There's some trauma, he guesses, in murdering a whole planet. He can't relate, he only shot soldiers one after another until his hands went numb.

 

(He hopes they were soldiers, at least.

Some nights, he isn't certain any longer.)

 

Sitting cross-legged on the bench, Klaus grins at the little old lady handing him a candy bar she probably stole. Nice grandma, he thinks while munching on it, cigarette in his free hand. That's fine to erase this mess from his head, sometimes. To go back to it later, only to be hit in the face by the fury of what happened.

 

It's not like the others refused to assist Vanya. They just—couldn't. There is a weight, pressing against their hearts, memories of what has been lost or regained. That's what pushed them to flee, one after another. He gets it, in another time line, he's the one who ran. The second, after Five. And Five stayed too, not having anywhere else to go. Ben—ah out of everyone, Klaus gets Ben the most. They shared a bed for weeks after their return, because he couldn't close his eyes without being terrified of not waking up. So Klaus held him, smoking whatever was left (he wasn't organized back them, like labeling bags takes five minutes for fuck sake), telling him about whatever could work. Sometimes it was what happened in Vietnam. Not the best bedtime stories, although he mostly focused on dancing with Dave under the moonlight.

 

He isn't certain Ben found it interesting, but hey you can't be difficult when you ask your brother for support for the tenth night in a row. He will never mind, of course.

 

So, at the sweet age of seventeen, one year away from his death, Ben opted to get himself out of this hellhole. Bold move, quite displeasing to everyone else. Klaus cheered, full of support of brotherly affection while trying to pry an expensive vodka bottle out of Five's hands in the background.

 

Addictions are the backbone of this family, for sure.

 

While he contemplates making a joke about the lack of nuts in the candy bar and his life, his guest of honor gets up, abandoning him there. That's fine, they'll talk another night. He waves at her lazily, trying to remember her name and falling as miserably as he usually does. God, being seventeen is an even worse hassle the second time around. On his way back, fingers sticky with chocolate he wiped on his skirt, Klaus glances at night shops illuminating the streets.

 

It's blinding, and he thinks of Allison, always surrounded by cameras and flashes. She left too, after Ben. Something about her career, although he isn't certain it's her goal. She sends them boxes filled with stuff, little treasures, shit which remind her of them. That's—her way of doing things. Kinda distant somehow. He doesn't blame her, especially as she lived isolated because her fame. Okay, fine, he is mad at the gifts she buys for her siblings. Mad at how they drink tea or soda together on rainy days, and she has nothing to say to them in the end.

 

Sure she is trying. So is everyone else. It's simply not enough.

 

The sole great thing she does is going to Vanya's concerts. Even if she is at the back (or the side, he doesn't know anything about that stuff) of the orchestra, still taking baby steps, it's still—important to watch their lil sis. The first time Klaus sat in the middle of the theater, stuck between Five and Allison, he made a joke about the world ending earlier than planned. Which caused both of them to elbow him at the exact same time. Good thing Ben was not there or else he would have gotten three bruises.

 

The teenager ( _war veteran, ghost whisperer and more or less ex-drug addict,_ _over thirty_ ) lingers for too long, time to finish another smoke. Something a little stronger, although he is not trying to fuck his mind up. Only to have a great time without a panic attack due to his surroundings. Last week, he dove under the kitchen table after hearing toasts pop out of the toaster. Which was not his best moment. Not the worst though! Positivity. Or whatever he can get for a low price these days.

 

As rain starts to drip from the sky, Klaus uses this opportunity to sit in front of a closed flower shop, staring at the colors behind the glass. That would look great in the mess which is his bedroom. Or Vanya's. Oh god, how he loathes her bland room, akin to something straight out from a hospital. That's a tiny thing, where she must struggle to breathe. And the broken window which refuses to open completely since they are six. He doubts it's a coincidence, merely another way to keep her inside. They should relocate her to another room, since many are vacant. Like Luther's. His departure was a great moment, even better than Allison slamming the door behind her as she left or Ben calling Reginald the worst paternal figure ever. Luther straight up wrote a note and left, avoiding the disappointment in their dad's eyes. Which is something they are so used to Klaus isn't certain he can show another expression. That was a cowardly move, yet it makes Klaus proud in a weird way.

 

So now, it's only the three who ran away as teenagers the first time around who remain. Ironic. Or iconic, the best way to go back at that asshole, he can't decide.

 

And there's Diego, who is here _sometimes_ , for Grace more than any of them. Mommy boy, still. He likes Diego, always enjoyed this weirdo and his love for clean backseats and 'Klaus if you drop that ice-cream you're a dead man', although he gets covered in blood almost every night. Klaus still uses his brother as a chauffeur when he wants a ride, although it's to hang with him rather than being a bother. He likes to think Diego appreciates the company.

 

As the rain pours around him, and he regrets not having an umbrella, Klaus notices the crate sitting on a bin, too big to fit in. A lovely metaphor for his inability to fit inside his own home. Oh, it's a little late to get into philosophy and that stuff. He hopes Ben's asleep, rather than reading a book alongside his third mug of coffee (he got him a cute one with 'tentacles are hot' on it. The best part is that Ben hasn't thrown it at his head until that point). As his body laments for a war he hasn't gone through—phantom pain or something— he pushes a hand against his bare knee until he's back up. The crate's filled with small plants probably not fitting for the season any longer.

 

Succulents, they're called.

 

So tiny. He looks at the pots who fell on top of another, dirt everywhere inside the crate. A respectable person would walk away, returning home to go to bed before sunrise. That's good Klaus has never claimed to be respectable, as he can fill his pockets with plants, and his arms too. That's going to bring colors inside the living graveyard they're stuck in (minus the ghosts, well outside of his).

 

As he walks back, getting soaked in the process, Klaus fondly remembers that night where the rain froze each part of his body until Dave warmed him up. Didn't stop him from catching a cold, alongside a couple of infections here and there, nothing too bad. He's glad to have all his toes back though. That's more comfortable somehow.

 

After putting water everywhere in his room, Klaus abandons the twelve little things he managed to salvage on his bed. On a scale from ghost tea party to seeing Dave again, he is slightly high. Which is the maximum he has reached over the past years. One day, when he is ready to deal with his powers (mastering them takes time, okay? It's a full time job), Klaus will struggle less to get rid of it completely. Or so he hopes.

 

Once in comfortable clothes, towel over his hair, he glances at his alarm clock. Two in the morning, still early! The best time to party and mistake living beings for spirits or the opposite. He has improved with that. And if he focuses enough, he can make either real for a moment. That and levitating a little. Oddly, not going on suicide missions did improve his mental health greatly. There was a slight accident with Diego throwing knives at their bother figure when he wanted to lock Four into the mausoleum again. Not that it needs to happen, as Klaus can mostly deal with them, alongside sarcastic comments and an aversion for anything too red these days.

 

That's with glee, a death wish, and a spark of optimism, that he bursts into Vanya's room ten minutes later. On the bright side, it could be a breakthrough for her to awaken her powers once more! For all he knows, she hasn't used them since their return. He is certain she has lessened her medication nonetheless, especially as she came to him two years ago to figure out a safe way to empty pills before replacing their contents. As if he was an expert on drugs!

 

Of course, he is.

That's why he showed her how to put sugar inside instead of whatever daddy dearest thought appropriate for her. He isn't certain they had a conversation lasting for more than two minutes since that day.

 

Time to fix that! Or else they'll be twenty again in the blink of an eye, and then thirty and dead.

The last part, Klaus could do without.

 

 

     “Hey, wake up!”

 

In retrospect sitting on her bed might not be the best course of action. Not that there is any space in that damn room. There is fear in her eyes when she jolts into a sitting position.

 

“Klaus!”

 

“Vanya!”

 

Fine, he deserves the way she pushes him off the bed. She isn't like him, feeding on touch and always too loud. They crave to belong though, both of them. And that's why he laughs, crossing his legs on the floor as he hands her the present, dirt having fallen on his clothes during the fall.

 

She stares at the plant, eyelids heavy with sleep, wondering what's the meaning of this. Companionship, he'd like to offer. A way to have support, something to talk to outside of mom. He loves mom, yet he doesn't trust her fully. Reginald won't let them have such reprieve. She tugs on the bottom of her shirt with one hand, brows furrowed in concentration.

 

“Where did you get that?”

 

“Trashcan.”

 

“Klaus,” she sounds exhausted at once, “what the hell.”

 

“I thought it would look amazing inside your room! It's so—honestly, it makes me sick, yeah. All this white, the broken window. The lonely violin.”

 

At least that thing isn't white. For now. Klaus has tears in his eyes out of all a sudden. They arrive in a treacherous manner, invading his gaze until he has to press his palms against his face. That's too difficult, to be back there. He fucked up so greatly once, and he regrets not just—following that path again. Sure, the amount of pain was unbearable, but at least—he wasn't conscious during most of it.

 

“I hope you brought one for Five, or else you'll never hear the end of it.”

 

“I have eleven more, you know me, I always plan ahead.”

 

“Like I do?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

Ah, they have no interest in foreseeing anything, that's the greatest power. He doubts it's a problem, if they simply enjoy the present for now (they do not). Fingers thread through his hair, awkwardly, the same who once guided her fingers against the violin as she caused the apocalypse.

 

“I'm going to call it Klaus junior.”

 

“I'm so moved,” he whimpers, eyes still watery as he wonders what he's trying to accomplish. Is 2 AM the appropriate time for an existential crisis? Probably. What else did he expect anyway? It's not as if he had a semblance of control over his emotions these days. Too much effort, so little motivation. When Vanya slides on the floor by his side, he presses his head against the crook of her shoulder. She's so small, in a terrifying way. The kind her father took advantage off, concealing so much powers inside her without any advice or guidance. Yeah, she caused the apocalypse. Who wouldn't have though? They ambushed her at the end, trapped her inside that damn cage in the basement. The one Ben destroyed during training before deciding to leave.

 

Right now, Ben would be a great support. A shame his place is so far, or else Klaus would have brought him a succulent and waffles. He is fine with Vanya though, the way she allows him to cry without judging That's such an odd moment to bond, after all these years of silence and avoiding their future.

 

“We can add garlands too, with little lights, I mean if you like it—”

 

White makes him sick, guts twisting as he recalls hospital rooms and ghosts weeping in hallways, wandering in search of what has already been lost. Suddenly, Klaus wants to ask why they stayed, what they hoped to achieve. Sure, the old man doesn't dare to use them as he did before, probably because his favorites are gone. And Klaus has little fear left in his heart. He has witnessed too many deaths caused by bad leadership, greedy generals believing themselves above the rest. That's why he can stand tall (arms still too long, bones struggling to adjust) in front of that monster. In the same way Vanya can vanish, aware he has no expectation for her. Five is so old—he hasn't gotten used to this era at all, unable to grasp back who he was.

 

“I've started to use them again,” that's the kind of confession which sounds wrong, when the sole light in the room comes from the flickering street lamp outside. Alone in world, trapped in their own shitty childhood. They got it worse than the others (outside of sweet Ben, obviously, afraid of his own body), struggling to see how to change without worsening everything. They are far from being the beloved kids some of their siblings are (or were).

 

“Don't blow the moon up,” that's a cruel thing to reply. Aren't they brother and sister though? Siblings have a desire to protect, without much kindness inside their heart to prove it. That's how their family has always worked.

 

“I want to, on bad days.”

 

Bad days. Good days. Terrible days. Days without Dave. Days where Ben cries on the phone before asking for him to come. How the tables have turned. Klaus isn't caring, not great at comfort or care. Hell, he can barely pay attention to himself.

 

“Let's have less bad days then,” Klaus suggests, clenching dog tags against his palm. Fake ones. He bought some blank ones, engraving whatever name he wanted against the metal. They do not belong to Dave, never will. That's fine, he can deal with that another day. “We should wake Five up.”

 

Or check on him downstairs, as they find his room empty. Another usual tragedy. Vanya and him take a moment to pick the right succulent, the smallest, whose leaves appear to beg for water. Not dead yet. Could be if they do not care for it. Klaus thinks the metaphor isn't appropriate, as their Five is over watered with alcohol. Less than when he was an adult, for sure. Still, cocktails remain dangerous, even when you add more fruit juice than booze.

 

They pass Mom, resting on her bed, the one Diego built for her. There were tears involved, and a lot of stutter. Klaus isn't certain of what happened, another argument turned sour. And then she got a bed in a room filled with paintings. Although she remains perfect like this, ready to take the world with a smile in the morning, they still pause, taking the time to adjust the blankets and kiss her forehead. Vanya leans against him, head barely reaching his shoulders.

 

“I watched tapes from our childhood over the past years. Borrowing them one after another. That's how I learned what happened to our nannies.”

 

Klaus hums, arm around her shoulders like Ben would do if he was there. He should go to live with him at some point, it would—they were together for so long. Klaus sometimes struggles to recall how to exist as himself, without his dead brother by his side.

 

“Let me guess, you baked cookies together and everyone was super happy—oh wait, that doesn't feel like us at all. You don't have to tell me.”

 

Maybe she's grateful. Or he ruined an opportunity for her to open up. Whatever, it does not change a thing. They are still headed downstairs. Pogo made a couple of attempts at understanding them, back when they traveled back in time. But, as months went by, he stopped, more often with Reginald than with them. Nowadays, as they are merely a bunch of mistakes hanging away from each other, no one care about what they do.

 

 

      Five almost died, when they returned. Channeling too much at once, only to be out cold for weeks after. Better than getting trapped in the future with no way to return. While he remains their cynical brother, he doesn't travel much any longer. Klaus tends to believe it's his age, or rather the years of horror he witnessed. The kind of traumatic memories piling up he understands too well. That's why he isn't surprised, when they find him sitting on the couch in these horrendous shorts they should have burned years ago.

 

“What a delightful surprise,” he greets them, lifting his glass before muttering they ran out of tiny umbrellas again.

 

Klaus has never been a math person. Hence how he isn't sure of his brother's age right now. Too high for his body, which is hilarious as he could say the same for himself, for different reason.

 

“How's the addiction?”

 

Subtle is definitely not Klaus middle name. Do they have some? Vanya Apocalypse, Klaus Failure, and Five Grandpa. They sound absolutely terrible, he decides while flopping on the couch, more or less crushing Five until he kicks him in the ribs. What's up with this family and mindless violence? Oh he should ask Diego, their expert.

 

Vanya opts for the armchair, knees under her chin, fingers drumming a melody against them. She observes, tongue twisting in her mouth as she ignores how to start a conversation. He had seen her with Five before though. In this lifetime, they make sandwiches together in the kitchen, marshmallows and peanut butter no longer awaiting for Five's return. Klaus should join them, if he wasn't busy—well, he has no real excuse. Outside of a fear of judgment.

 

“It's not an addiction, do not compare us.”

 

“I wouldn't, I know I'm doing much better than you this time around~”

 

_D_ _on't waste your life,_ Five would have said not long before, when they only had eight days to make things right and they screwed up anyway. Oh well, that guy is still Mr Perfect, completely certain of being smarter than them. Which might be the case, not that Klaus wants to get into such fight right now. Rather than that, being the amazing person he is, he drops the plant on his sibling's lap, watching his sour expression with a grin.

 

“You are definitely not, also, what is the meaning of this?”

 

Outside of the fact Five's facial expression is always a mix between annoyance and a complete lack of respect towards anyone taller than him, Klaus has no reason to fear him. That's why he shrugs, staring at the ceiling and noticing there is still one of Diego's knives up there. Ah, that will hurt the day it finally falls off.

 

If it's on Reginald, Klaus absolutely wants to be present. That would be the best traumatic experience of his life.

 

“It's a plant. You care for it and it brings some joy into your house.”

 

“Klaus found a bunch of them in a trashcan.”

 

“Typical.”

 

So much judgment at once! There are so many pleasant activities they could work on! Knitting for example. Klaus has everything for it, although he never went further than a scarf. Half-finished scarf. Pink and black, quite fashionable.

 

He wonders how damaged Five is inside, for traveling so much through time and working for assassins for a while. Oh, they should do a funky night family thing where he summons ghosts and then he lets them make comments on that. Or maybe not. After all, many of these people are not born yet, or erased from time lines. That's so complicated at once.

 

“I'm only asking you to care for the damn thing, so prove me you can.”

 

“You think the opposite?”

 

Siblings are easy. You have to push them in the right way, and off they go. In the case of Vanya, they orientated her towards a wall and watched as she ran straight into it without trying to do anything. Not their brightest moment.

 

“Thinking is a lot to ask from me right now,” Klaus grunts, wondering if he can send plants from the post office. Since he has enough for everyone—they could bet on whose will die first. He'd say Five's, honestly.

 

There is no reply, only the sound of a glass being lowered as Five inspects the small plant. On the side, Vanya is still drumming her fingers, playing the same rhythm over and over. It takes him a while to find it familiar. The concert—that's not kind.

 

Not that they are, so he didn't expect anything else.

 

“My drugs, your pills, Five's cocktails—we are truly the worst, aren't we?” He doesn't mean for the words to get out. They just do. As if his eyes weren't still red from crying earlier.

 

“These are different matters,” Five mutters.

 

“Are they, though? We take them as consequences of our powers, in a way.”

 

Klaus moves as Vanya comes closer, climbing on the couch. She isn't wrong. Had they been born as ordinary kids, none of that would have happened. They could have grown in their birthplace, perhaps with loving parents. Difficult to do worse than the asshole who took the job anyway. But then, he recalls their births weren't exactly normal either. So, the best would be for them to never have existed. It sounds too easy somehow.

 

“Do you expect us to stop? Even going back in time did not fix any of this,” voice laced with venom, the shortest slumps further against the couch, squeezing the pot between his fingers harshly.

 

“I was already an addict at thirteen,” and there is a silence Klaus kind of expected. He is mad at once, as they were aware of that. They chose to ignore it, that's completely different from ignorance! “Assholes. Don't act so surprised.”

 

He pats their shoulders, getting up right after. Suddenly, they are too close, and he wants to breathe. Lighting a cigarette and pressing it against his lips is a relief. The kind which won't last. He can limit himself nowadays, taking drugs only once, from time to time. Smoking—well he blames Vietnam for worsening that.

 

Dave.

 

Laying on the rug is not proper, not that he gives a fuck. That sure was an attempt at communication. Their best one in years, he'd say. Why did they give up so easily? He cannot even recall. They did though. Again.

 

“Van', you're not an addict, right? You're simply afraid of what could happen.”

 

“I'm addicted to this illusion of safety, you could say. Fucked up, hm.”

 

“Makes sense. I still take some drugs because it keeps ghosts at bay enough for me to remain sane. And Five, dear ol' Five, how are the memories?”

 

“Do not drag me into this.”

 

“Why not? You're like us, cheers! You could drink to that.”

 

There is violence in their veins, a deep desire to set things right they cannot fathom. So they avoid what they are, taking the easy path. Except it's as painful as any other. And now here they are, alone in the living-room, with a dying succulent and no support. Klaus lifts his hands towards the ceiling, soft blue glow emitting from the tip of his fingers. There are countless witnesses he could call, although this house is filled with ghosts and secrets, so it's better not to do it. He sits up with a sigh.

 

“What do you suggest, if you are so keen on calling us out on our habits?”

 

“Dear brother of mine, that's an excellent question. Vanya, any hot take on the situation you'd like to share with the class?”

 

She smiles, the expression hidden as she lowers her head.

 

“We could leave.”

 

“Oh running away, how brilliant, no one has suggested this before?”

 

“I think leaving would be facing ourselves instead.”

 

“Without money, or a goal? Please, be realistic.”

 

As adults, well with matching bodies, Klaus doesn't doubt Vanya would have retracted into her shell, vanishing back into her room without trying. They are younger (older) this time around, and she lifts her chin upward. Enough for something fierce to gleam in her eyes. Klaus cannot help himself as he sits on his knees, palms pressing against her sister's cheeks. That's what he wants to see, what he lacks himself. That hint of courage.

 

“Go on, drag him.”

 

_Tell him_ , he wanted to say.

It doesn't matter, it's almost the same thing.

 

“The goal can simply be for us to be alive, to be happy. Have you been happy at all, since we returned? Outside of the times where you come to watch me play, I haven't.”

 

Is he different? Klaus was overjoyed to be reunited with Ben, to be free of enjoying teenage years once more—except they turned out bland and he has no purpose in life at all. Which sounds depressing but who needs a goal at their age? How old are they anyway? He can't count right now.

 

“Me neither, that's the problem,” he stares into her eyes, releasing her face slowly. Fingers find the dog tags, twirling the chain around, “if we take a small flat and we try, surely something else will happen. We stayed this time around, but we only caged ourselves which sucks if you ask me. And for once, you are. Which is funny because you have never listened to my opinion before.”

 

“Do you hope to convince me by such meager use of your vernacular? Are you aiming for pity?”

 

Klaus would have laughed before. Earlier. It's too late. He sighs instead, faint smile on his lips.

 

“Not really, I'm aiming for your self-preservation skills, if they exist.”

 

“I didn't survive years alone for you to tell me this.”

 

“We survived. We have never _lived_ ,” Vanya adds, in an impressive use of the two weeks of therapy she had as an adult before giving up on it. “We can leave, the others did. We stayed behind in fear, which isn't right. I hate this house. And everything inside.”

 

“Even _my plants_?” He sounds so heartbroken for a second, and she immediately shakes her head.

 

“I like your plants, Klaus. We should take them with us.”

 

“Oh yes, we should. And get a waffle machine for Ben, he loves them.”

 

“Sounds good. I can get a typewriter, my fingers have been aching for a while. You too, Five, you can buy whatever you want.”

 

He remains silent for a while, obviously fighting his desire to abort the conversation and simply leave. In the end, though, Five offers them the warmest words able to come from him:

 

“A coffee machine.”

 

“See!” Klaus claps his hands together, releasing the name tags, “That's what we're talking about. A coffee machine's cool.”

 

Until he starts to drink too many cups per day. Better for his liver than alcohol, not that great for the rest of the body. Klaus believes they can talk about that stuff later! As long as they get to put this shitty place behind, he'll be fine. Of course, he will call Diego first, this way, if he wants to visit Mom or even invite her to live with him. Better not leave her alone with Pogo and the bastard. Not this time around. They have changed so many details already.

 

 

      Klaus does not sleep well that night, woken up by nightmares and buried truths on top of one another. He gets up late anyway, bleary and ready to fall face first against the floor. He manages to walk to Vanya's room though, finding two single boxes on her bed. Alongside a book on 'Succulents, how NOT to kill them', which leaves him too emotional this early in—oh it's the middle of the afternoon. Still too early.

 

“You could put some pants on,” she comments from behind, patting his shoulder to make him step back. The room is so tiny, no wonder she didn't have much to pack, “anyway, I've been looking at flats.”

 

“Did I miss something, are we moving today?”

 

“Ask Five, he has almost slaughtered a potential landlord over safety measures this morning. Oh we bought you a sandwich, it's waiting for you in the kitchen.”

 

“For me? Dear sister of mine?” As he opens his arms, ready for a hug she dodges by climbing on her bed, she offers him a smile. Little creature out of her shell, he likes her a lot better than this.

 

“Your favorite, with avocado and—”

 

And then, Klaus is gone, as the promise of such meal awaiting for him downstairs is hard to beat. On the way, Mom stops him, and he has to grab pants before he is able to reach the kitchen. Already so much effort for the day. He notes, from the corner of his eyes, the brand new coffee machine sitting on the counter, and Five' smug expression while he shows his new beloved to his brother.

 

“I hope you are ready for our departure, I found an excellent place and you'll have your own room so you can bring your junk.”

 

How can three teenagers afford a three bedrooms flat? Oh yes, dad is rich. Although this means Five managed to convince the less older man to give some to them. Which is—you know what? Klaus doesn't even want to know. He's fine eating his sandwich and listening to Five being enthusiastic about coffee.

 

 

        Two months later, they have five surviving succulents in their living room, lined on the same shelf. They get updates from their siblings on theirs from time to time when they go out to eat or simply want to talk on the phone. Funny how little plants did more for them (alongside their brand new therapist) than their father. Klaus doesn't mind, as long as they get their second chance.

 

They deserve it.


End file.
